Precautionary Measures
by Scribble2Much
Summary: Sam is injured but furious when Dean wants to take Cas on a demon hunt instead of him. Dean gets back from the hunt and has to contend with a sick, jealous, insecure Sam whose behaviour is getting irrational. Set in Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

**Precautionary Measures**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural, I just like to act like I do.

**Summary:** Sam is injured but he's furious when Dean wants to take Cas on a demon hunt instead of him. Dean says it's for Sam's safety but Sam knows between his powers and his addiction his brother just doesn't trust him around demons. Set in Season 4.

**A/N: **This started out as an additional chapter of my very first fic, "In the Darkness" but I spun it off as a separate story because I thought it could stand on its own. I wanted to dabble with the Cas, Dean, Sam fraternal triangle and revisit the jealous little brother theme before Season 7 irrevocably alters the dynamics between these three. However, my irrepressible muse had other plans and I took an unexpected detour into Season 4 angst. What follows is the result.

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><p>Sam had honestly thought he'd put his jealousy of Castiel behind him. He knew it had been unreasonable and childish to envy Dean's relationship with his guardian angel, but his resentment was too real to ignore. His insecurity had led to a confrontation with Dean and a legendary Winchester yelling match. However, once they had both blown off steam, Dean had reassured him that angels were angels but brothers were brothers. That had settled the matter in Sam's mind. Then came the muddled hunt that left him injured and had Dean calling Cas for back-up and Sam's envy flared again.<p>

The brothers were investigating a haunted church in Ohio which wasn't haunted at all. The building had become a hang out spot for about half a dozen demons on a respite from hell. The Winchesters had arrived with their ghost fighting arsenal and were unprepared to respond when they came under demonic fire.

The brothers had gotten tossed around like soft balls with Sam getting the worst of it. Dean had managed to run from the building, but Sam's departure had been through a ground floor stain glass window at a demon's behest.

When Dean got him back to the motel and inspected the damage, Sam's left hip and shoulder were badly bruised and sore from the impact of the fall. He also had multiple minor scrapes and scratches from the shards of glass.

Instinctively, Dean new his priorities; take care of Sam and then take care of the demons. He settled his little brother in bed, cleaned and dressed the cuts, then quickly activated two large ice packs which he taped to Sam's hip and shoulder. Once the first aid was complete, he dug through his duffle pulling out his father's journal, holy water and a few hex bags.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked as Dean hurriedly transferred the supplies to a backpack.

"Finishing the job," Dean replied.

"Not tonight you're not," Sam insisted sitting up and then wincing as his body protested. "You need to take it easy. You got hurt too."

"Nothing I can't shake off," Dean looked around for his car keys.

Sam quickly grabbed the bundle from the night stand.

"O.K., just give me a few more minutes on this ice and I'll come with you."

"No you stay here," Dean ordered. "I'll take care of this."

"Without back up?"

"I've got a plan."

"And what do you expect me to do lie down and watch pay per view while you go off on a Kamikaze mission?"

"Don't worry about it," Dean shrugged. "I'll call Cas. I'll be back before the credits roll on the first movie."

The ease with which Dean had substituted him had Sam seeing ten shades of green and ready to curse a blue streak.

"I cover you," Sam's ferocious tone had Dean looking up in shock. "That's my job."

"And protecting you is _my_ job which means you don't go into a building full of demons when you're practically debilitated."

"I've taken on more than that in worse shape than this and you know it."

"True, but not this time."

"Why, because you have Cas?" Sam said the angel's name like it was a curse.

"No, because it's demons Sam! I shouldn't have to remind you about our colourful history with this particular brand of monster."

Rage and shame had Sam struggling for control.

"What's the matter Dean?" he asked, his tone was as measured as it was bitter. "Scared that I'll use something more than a spell to exorcise them?"

Dancing around the issue had gotten them no where in the past, so Dean faced it head on.

"Quite frankly, yes. But it's not what you're thinking," Dean added quickly when he saw Sam wince as if he'd him hit. "Just trust me on this one. I'll take Cas and we'll take care of it, you just stay here and get better."

"Have it your way," Sam yelled. "Take Cas. After all your guardian angel isn't a blood-sucking liability who's bound to confuse a demon hunt with an all-you-can eat buffet."

Enraged at the accusation, Dean turned on his brother. "Don't put that on me Sam," he shouted. "I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

"No! You're trying to keep me out of the way because you don't trust me."

"Sam..."

"Just be honest with me Dean. You don't want me in a building full of demons because you think I'll use my powers to fight them or I'll end up get juiced up on their blood!"

"_Sam_..."

"You said we've moved past all that but you _still_ don't trust me and you don't believe I'm strong enough to do the right thing."

"No, _I'm_ not strong enough Sam. I don't have it in me to watch you go through withdrawal again and have to sit by like an invalid while you suffer. And if withdrawal wasn't hell enough for both of us there was everything that led up to it, the secrets, the lies and us not trusting each other. If there's the slightest risk that anything is going to send us back down that road then that's a chance I'm not prepared to take. I'm not allowing you anywhere near anything or anyone that's going to come between us like that again; because you may be strong enough to go another round Sam but I sure as hell am not!"

Dean turned away and covered his face with hands. Even he was surprised by his own vehemence but he meant every word; _nothing_ was going to take his little brother from him again. Stunned, Sam could only stare at Dean's back as his brother's words echo through his head and resounded in his heart.

"I've learned from my mistakes," Sam's said softly, praying that Dean would believe him. "I'll do the right thing."

"What is the right thing Sammy?" Dean asked tiredly turning to face his brother. "If we go after those demons together, and I get myself into real trouble, you're going to use your powers, to get me out of trouble and we both know it."

"Dean, I ..."

"I know you would Sammy," Dean sat on the bed where he could look his brother in the face. "And you don't have to defend yourself because if I was in your position, I'd do the same thing."

They held each other's gaze as the weight of the admission hung between them.

Dean broke the silence.

"Either way, it's not a decision you're going to have to make. I'm not putting you in that position Sammy."

"I get where you're coming from," Sam conceded. "But I can't just leave your safety up to anybody, angel or not."

"I'll be fine," Dean squeezed Sam's good shoulder reassuringly.

Sam looked at Dean closely, searching his brother's face for any evidence of mistrust or what he feared most, loathing. Instead he saw what he had seen all his life; concern, dogged protectiveness and love.

"O.K," he agreed quietly. "I'll sit this one out. But if anything happens to you, your guardian angel is going to feel the wrath of hell."

Visibly relieved, Dean got up and grabbed his backpack. "I'll be back before you know it," he said confidently.

"Just be careful," Sam pleaded.

"I will," Dean headed for the door and then turned back looking for his car keys.

Sam tossed them to him. "Call me as soon as it's over."

"Sure." Dean approached Sam's bedside giving him a quick once over again. "Don't leave that ice on too long or you'll get burns to go with those bruises."

"Five more minutes and they're off," Sam promised.

Then Dean rummaged through his duffle and pulled out a small plastic bottle.

"Take some painkillers," he ordered handing over the pills and a bottle of water.

Sam quickly popped a few pills and gulped down some water. "Done."

"Now get some rest," was Dean's final instruction.

"I will," Sam promised. "As soon as you get back."

"Then I better do this quickly," Dean made a show of rolling his eyes before he headed for the door again.

"Dean," Sam called his brother back one last time. "I'm a hunter; I can't hide from demons forever."

"Not forever," Dean reassured. "Just until we figure everything out. In the meantime, me and Cas can handle this one. Angels are practically indestructible but brothers don't exactly grow on trees."

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><p><strong>TO BE CONTINUED ... Going to throw in some sick!Sam and a little hurt!Dean because I just can't resist.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ** Much love and thanks to my beta Ericka Jane who worked her usual magic in record time.

**A/N: ** This fic is a Season 4 angst-fest – plain and simple – and the drama continues.

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><p><strong>TWO<strong>

Dean shrugged it off easily when he returned to the motel to see his brother fast asleep. Yeah, Sam had promised to wait up for him, but the kid had taken a bad fall and needed his rest. True to his word, Dean had called Sam as soon as he and Cas had ganked the last demon and left the scene of the crime. Sam had sounded exhausted on the phone, so Dean was not surprised to find him out cold.

Reflexively, Dean went to Sam's bed to check on him and was concerned to find his brother's hair damp, and his face sweaty. When he touched Sam's neck with the back of his hand, Dean felt a worrisome heat coming off his sibling's skin. Mumbling incoherently, Sam stirred in his sleep, turning his head away from his brother. Dean moved his hand to Sam's forehead where the temperature confirmed his initial suspicion.

"Looks like a few days of meds and beds for you, Sammy," he whispered.

Slowly, Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother groggily.

"Everything O.K?" he asked, a little confused as to why Dean's hand was on his head.

"Not sure," Dean replied. "You're running a fever."

"Fever?"

"Yeah, I need to check and make sure none of these cuts are infected."

Sam tried to pull himself up but his head felt overly heavy and his shoulders were weak. Slightly disoriented, he looked around the room, missing the worried expression that crossed Dean's face.

"I was waiting up for you," Sam said sleepily.

"I know," Dean gently pulled Sam up into a sitting position and then leaned him forward to check the cuts on his back.

"I guess I fell asleep."

"You were out like a light when I came in," Dean was more focused on his examination than his brother's mutterings.

"How'd the hunt go?"

"Good," Dean said, carefully checking the large bruises on Sam's hip and shoulder, looking for broken skin. "Nothing like a little Angel power."

Attentive to his task, Dean didn't see his brother's dark scowl.

"Great," Sam said without the slightest enthusiasm.

"Everything seems OK," Dean noted slowly easing Sam back against the headboard. "Some Tylenol and some rest should do the trick."

With a few brisk movements Dean grabbed some Gatorade out of the small motel room fridge, and retrieved the bottle of painkillers he had given his brother earlier. Then he sat on the bed facing Sam to administer the medicine.

After Sam took the pills, he forced his eyes to focus and that was when he noticed the blood on the side of Dean's neck.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"One of those bastards came at me from behind. I got hit on the back of my head."

"Let me see," Sam insisted, reaching out to feel for the wound.

"I'm OK," Dean shifted before Sam could make contact.

"You're bleeding," Sam bristled at the realisation that his brother was avoiding his touch.

"Oh?" Dean put his hand to the wound and was surprised when his fingers came away with a smear of blood. "I thought I'd stopped it."

"You better let me take a look at it."

"Don't worry Sam, I got it," Dean said quickly. "You just rest. And for the record," Dean added with a mischievous smile. "Cas ganked the hell boy who thought it was a good idea to take me while my back was turned. I should have just let him use his mojo on this too."

Sam swallowed hard, hoping to ease the sharp stab of envy piercing his stomach. "Yeah, I suppose if your head's bleeding it's better to go crying to your puritanical guardian angel than to get help from your brother with the blood addiction."

Dean recognised immediately that fever or not, his brother was spoiling for a fight. And after two hunts in one night, Dean was tired and irritated enough to give him one.

"I swear on my own grave Sam, if hear one more word about Cas or one more accusation about any juvenile favouritism I'm gonna blow somebody's head off."

"Or you can just get your celestial bodyguard to do it for you."

"Damn it, Sam," Dean yelled, slamming his fist into the mattress. "Is every argument we're ever going to have for the rest of lives always going to map back to Cas?"

"You tell me," Sam countered. "You're the one who can't do without him."

"Why are you acting like a mentally unstable five year old?"

"Why won't you let me take care of you?"

"Because you're sick, Sam. You're running a fever; you can't even sit up by yourself, and I just figured the considerate thing to do was let you rest."

"It's not like I'm dying Dean. You're bleeding, I'm offering to help and you just blow me off like I've got some contagious disease."

"No, what you have is a chronic case of immaturity which is well past the point of responding to treatment."

"Fine, next time I'll just lie here and watch you bleed."

"It's a cut, Sam! It's not like it's some deep puncture wound that's gonna send me into shock. Why the hell are we arguing about this anyway?"

"Why won't you just tell me the truth?"

"What truth?"

"That you can't stand to have me patch you up anymore."

"What?"

"Dean, after what you've seen me do with blood you really don't want me touching you when you're bleeding, do you?"

"_Seriously?"_Totally at the end of his rope, Dean got up from the bed to pace. "Sam, what the hell?"

"Don't lie to me," Sam warned, his voice laced with hurt and anger. "You've been different with me since the panic room and tonight just proves it."

"All it proves is that you are one paranoid bastard."

"Don't pull that crap, Dean, just admit it."

"I'll admit that the only reason I'm not gonna bash your face in for even thinking that I feel that way about you is because you're running a fever, and you got yourself thrown through a window tonight. But I swear Sam, the moment you're well enough to get out of that bed I'm gonna kick your butt so bad you're gonna end up right back in it."

Dean stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door hard enough to wake the entire motel. When that did little to assuage his anger, he slammed the toilet seat down for good measure.

Ever since he came back from hell he'd been fighting for his relationship with his brother. Confrontations like the one he'd just endured made him wonder if it was worth it.

What was the big deal if he turned down Sam's offer to help? When Sam had run off to Stanford Dean had been forced to tend to his own wounds; the same way he was sure Sam had to look after himself when he was downstairs. And now that he was back, between his adventures with Cas and Sam's ill-fated alliance with Ruby, it sometimes felt like they spent more time apart than they did together. If they had been depending on each other to treat every wound suffered in the line of duty they would have both died ten times over already.

While Dean was slamming out his anger, Sam dragged up his blankets, turned over in his bed and squeezed his eyes shut. No matter how he tried, he couldn't see his brother's refusal to accept his help as anything but rejection. Although he never said it to anyone he had always felt that the first aid sessions that took place after bad hunts were something special between him and Dean.

When Sam had started hunting, even though his father was a more skilled amateur surgeon, he always went to Dean first if he was injured. Dean had always stitched, cleaned, bandaged, and treated all Sam's wounds with such care that it left no doubt in Sam's mind that he was precious to his brother.

In turn, Sam had veraciously absorbed all of his father's first aid lessons and pressed John until he allowed him to take care of Dean. For Sam it was more than giving first aid, it was giving back. It was his chance to care for his brother in the loving, selfless way Dean had always cared for him. It was the wordless way that Sam told Dean he was equally precious to him. Sam had lost a lot at the hands of the Azazel, Lilith and even his own folly; but his blood ran cold at the thought of losing this too.

As Sam lay brooding on the brink of despair, Dean's anger was giving way to regret. He had mishandled the entire situation. When his little brother got illogically and irrationally argumentative insecurity was usually at ground zero. And yes, he'd seen the anger in Sam's eyes, when his sibling had confronted him but he'd seen the hurt as well.

Dean had only meant to put his brother's needs ahead of his own. He wanted Sam to get some rest instead of fussing over him. But that had never been how they dealt with each other. Dean had always tended to his little brother before thinking about his own wellbeing and as soon as Sam had been old enough, he had done the same.

Dean could still remember a spirited argument that bordered on a fist fight when he and Sam had both emerged from a hunt with puncture wounds, and Sam had insisted on stitching him up first. Eventually, Dean had given in, figuring the quicker he let Sam patch him up, the quicker he could then tend to his little brother.

"I need to do this," Sam had confided while he had cleaned and stitched Dean's cut. "After we do all that killing and slaughtering, caring for you makes me feel human again."

Now, in the confinement of the restroom, realisation washed over Dean.

After the panic room, the demon blood, Ruby and the misguided mission to take out Lilith, Sam needed to feel human again. In the face of all the estrangement between them his brother needed to give to him the best way he knew how. He needed to replace the hurtful words with a healing touch and wipe away the malice with tender care. And the best thing Dean could do for Sam was to let him.

In spite of himself, Sam opened his eyes when he heard his brother exiting the bathroom and was surprised to see Dean approaching his bedside with their first aid kit.

"The cut's right at the back of my head," Dean said quietly. "I can't reach it. I need some help."

Relief coursed through Sam's soul, quieting his fears and calming his heart.

"Let me see," he said, pulling himself up into a sitting position with some effort.

Dean sat on the bed with his back to his brother and leaned his head forward. Sam parted the strands of Dean's thick, light brown hair, inspected the cut and then went to work. As Sam rinsed, cleaned and dressed his wound, Dean marvelled, as he often did, how his brother's huge hands could be so gentle. In fact, when it came to patching up injuries, Sam had never been anything less than tender. In spite of all that had happened between them since he had been back topside Dean never expected that to change.

So when had things gotten so bad between them that Sam could have actually believed Dean would have shunned his help? Maybe when he had told Sam if he didn't know him he would want to hunt him. Or maybe when he had asked his little brother if he was still human.

Shame pierced Dean's heart as he realized how badly his harsh words had hurt Sam and that he had to take his share of the blame for the insecurity and uncertainty that was colouring their relationship.

As Sam applied a bandage to his cut and finished off by giving Dean's shoulder a quick squeeze, Dean knew he owed his brother an apology. However, when he turned to face Sam, words failed him.

"All done," Sam said and sounding more tired than Dean was comfortable with.

"Thanks," Dean offered, knowing he needed to say so much more. "Sam," he began trying to hold his brother's gaze but Sam avoided eye contact.

"You might not be able to wash your hair for a couple days," Sam suggested, busying himself shoving supplies back into the first aid kit.

"You can check it and tell me tomorrow," Dean offered, hoping Sam could hear what was left unsaid.

"O.K," Sam still wouldn't look at him, clearly signalling to Dean that his conciliatory gestures had not closed the widening void.

"Sam," Dean tried again but stalled when he saw that Sam was paying more attention to arranging his bed covers than to what his big brother was saying. It was clear that neither of them had the stomach for this sordid mess tonight. Sam was tired and feverish, Dean was exhausted and feeing guiltier by the second; this wasn't a good time to talk about jealousies, rivalries, and betrayals. "You need to get some rest now."

"I know," Sam pulled up his blankets.

"Here," Dean handed over the remainder of the Gatorade. "I want that fever gone by tomorrow."

"Thanks," Sam took the bottle and drained it.

"Rest well, Sammy," Dean said, watching his little brother curl into his pillows.

Dean's heart ached with fondness and regret. He wanted to say more but left it at that. Tomorrow, they would settle everything.

Exhaustion had Dean out cold soon after he settled in his own bed. He woke with a start some time later and sat up suddenly in the darkness. He wondered what had jolted him out of his sleep and then he heard the distressed sounds coming from the bed beside his. Instantly, he flicked on the bedside lamp, threw off his covers and stepped out of his bed and over to Sam's.

Fear seized Dean's heart as he saw his brother, breathing hard, soaked with sweat yet shivering under his blankets.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Dean demanded, reaching to feel Sam's neck to gauge his temperature.

"Don't," was all Sam could murmur, as he shrank back from the touch.

"Sam, your fever's spiking, I need to …"

"No," Sam whispered, gasping to catch his breath. "Stay away from me."

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><p><strong>TO BE CONTINUED<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Precautionary Measures**

**A/N:**Special thanks to everyone that's been following this series; I really appreciate your reviews, alerts and favourites.

**A/N: **As always, thanks to my incredible beta Ericka Jane who turned this around in record time. I made some changes after I got it back from her so any mistakes are mine.

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><p><strong>THREE<strong>

Dean was amazed that after more than two and a half decades, his little brother still had the ability to keep him guessing. Sam had been feverish but placid when Dean tucked him in, but he woke up shivering and skittish, shrinking away from Dean when he tried to help him. Even in his twenties Sam had always had a tendency to be clingy when he was sick. So now, Dean was totally baffled as to why his younger sibling would be in the throes of illness and flinching from him.

Unsure of what he was dealing with, Dean decided to tread lightly.

"Hey," he said gently, slowly easing himself down on the side of Sam's bed. "You don't look so good."

"I'm O.K," Sam whispered quickly, turning his face away from his brother. "You can go back to sleep."

"I will," Dean promised quietly. "I just need to check your fever first."

"Don't worry," Sam pulled his blankets up around him but the covers didn't quite hide that he was edging away from Dean. "I'm alright, I'm just cold."

"That's because you're sweating like a faucet. Feel up to a quick shower?"

"No," Sam whispered through shivers.

"Let me get you a dry shirt then," Dean offered.

"No." Still shivering, Sam turned his back to his brother. "Don't hover, Dean, please."

"I just wanna be sure you're O.K."

Gingerly, Dean reached out wanting to check Sam's temperature but this time Sam recoiled visibly. Dean's stomach hollowed. Physical contact had always been second nature for him and Sam, and now having his little brother pulling away from him sent a sharp pain through his gut.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Dean said patiently although his concern was quickly turning into alarm. "Sam please, you're shaking like a leaf, your temperature's up, and I'm just trying to help."

"Then just give me some space," Sam insisted. His voice was shrilling, a clear signal to Dean that he was near breaking point.

Dean grasped his brother's shoulder and lowered him to the bed so Sam couldn't avoid his gaze. "You're starting to scare me," he said making no attempt to keep the worry out of his voice.

If Sam had been teetering on the edge, then Dean's words sent him over. Hurt and distress flashed in his eyes as he wrenched his shoulder out of Dean's grasp and pulled himself up against the headboard.

"Please go," he begged desperately. "Please just leave me alone."

"Sam," Dean's voice was now laced with anxiety. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want you to see me like this." Sam covered his face with his hands.

"Like what?" Dean demanded as exasperation set in. "You're sick. I've seen you sick all your life; I don't care what's wrong just let me help you."

"I can't," Sam insisted, still not looking at his brother.

"Why?"

"Because I feel like it's happening again and I don't want you around, Dean. I don't want you to see."

As he watched his brother scared, shivering and gasping, realisation came quickly to Dean. Sam wasn't just sick, he was running a high fever, breathing hard, and shaking to the point where Dean was sure he'd rattle his bones. The last time Sam had exhibited all of these symptoms he'd been strapped down in the panic room in the throes of withdrawal.

"Sam," Dean ordered softly, "Look at me."

That was one instruction Sam couldn't obey. He could still remember the pain and confusion in his Dean's eyes the last time he had been sick with fever. His big brother who had nursed him through practically every illness of his life had been horrified by the effects of his addiction. The only thing more disturbing than Dean's shock and disbelief had been Sam's own self-revulsion knowing that his sibling had witnessed him crashing to the lowest level of his humanity.

He was never going to let Dean see him like that again.

"Sam," Dean's tone was quickly moving from gentle to stern. "I know what you're thinking. I know you're remembering the panic room and the hell you went through with withdrawal, but that's not what we're dealing with here. Sam you've got a fever, nothing more."

"It feels like it's happening again."

"That's because your temperature is probably off the Richter Scale by now; you're light-headed, winded and a little confused but that's all it is. I'll give you some more meds and we'll get you hydrated, and then after that you can get some rest."

"Don't do this to me, Dean," Sam panted furiously, his anguish was turning to anger. "I'm begging you, just leave me alone."

Hearing his brother's mounting rage set off Dean's temper. "Look at me," he ordered; his tone clearly indicating refusal would not be tolerated.

Risking the shame, Sam raised his head and faced his brother.

"You think it was easy for me?" Dean asked, angrily. "Watching you sick to the point of dying and not being able to go near you? All your life I've taken care of you, Sam. I've never shrank back from that. And the time when you needed me the most I couldn't do anything to help. Do you know what that did to me?"

"Dean…"

"You don't get to do this, Sam. You don't get to put me through that ever again. And you sure as hell can't do it with some lame over-the-counter fever. So either you let me treat you now or I'll knock you out and do it while you're unconscious."

"Dean, I'm scared," Sam sighed helplessly.

And the defeated admission instantly defused Dean's temper. "I know," his tone softened. "And I think that's more the problem than anything else. You're remembering withdrawal and thinking that's what's happening now but trust me, it's not."

Sam wanted to believe Dean's reassurances but the last time he had felt this bad the hallucinations had come on followed closely by the violent levitations. After that came the straps and then the nightmare of being tied down and locked away like a dirty secret; or worse like the freak he had been so desperately afraid of becoming. Then came the hours of frantic screaming, begging his brother to release him and fighting the overwhelming fear that he had been abandoned by the only family he had left. If he had to go through that again Sam knew this time, he wouldn't survive.

"If it happens again Dean, I want you to..."

"It's _not_ happening again," Dean said forcefully. Then, seeing Sam wince in response, he looked away.

Dean had no clue how to make Sam believe him or even how to help him through his turmoil and pain. He knew all the ways to comfort the little boy he had left when he went to hell. But he knew next to nothing about consoling the hardened man he had found when he returned. What could he say to the fearless hunter who had beaten him senseless and run off with a treacherous she-devil on a misguided date with destiny? How could he help the virtual stranger who had scorned him as weak and almost choked him to death?

Completely at a loss, Dean looked back at his brother, searching for any signs that would reveal which Sam he was dealing with now. And although Dean wasn't completely sure, the man in front of him was battered by despair and clearly at the end of his endurance. So Dean did what he had always done whenever Sam had come to him with his world falling apart. He did what had worked from infancy to adulthood. He put his arms around him and pulled him close.

Sam dissolved against his sibling, holding on with everything in him, feeling certain that letting go would mean losing his life. He buried his head in the crook of Dean's neck and clung the way he used to when he was young and could run to his big brother whenever he was scared.

The world may have been at the brink of its end but at least Dean was hugging him. His brother was holding him and comforting him the way he had always done before demon blood, demonic alliances, and an insidious celestial war had come between them.

"You're OK, Sammy," Dean repeated softly until Sam's breathing evened out and his frantic shivering subsided. Then, Dean eased Sam away so he could look directly into his eyes. "Now, you're gonna stop acting like a moron, you're gonna let me take care of you and we're gonna get this damn fever down, O.K.?"

Sam nodded and then leaned against Dean again, needing the closeness a little while longer. Somewhere in his hurry to save the world he had ended up almost sacrificing what mattered most to him. How had he gone so completely far off base that he'd seen his own flesh and blood as the enemy? And having trampled on Dean's love and loyalty was there any chance he could regain his brother's trust and devotion?

Even as fatigue and sickness overwhelmed him Sam felt a stirring need to at least try to set things right.

"Dean, I need to explain what happened," he whispered tiredly.

"Later Sammy," Dean soothed, knowing exhaustion would only bring on more torment and emotion. "Let's get this fever taken care of first."

"But I wanna talk now," Sam said weakly. He'd meant to insist but found he didn't really have the energy to put any force behind his words.

"I'm pulling rank," Dean patted Sam's back, literally feeling the tiredness pulling his brother under. "You sleep first, then we'll talk."

"O.K," Sam mumbled, yawning against Dean's chest.

Rendered uninhibited by exhaustion, Sam leaned on his brother, sending Dean back at least two decades to the days when Sam trusted him so completely; he would fall asleep in his arms without a second thought. Even as sleep claimed Sam now, Dean's heart grieved as he wondered if they could ever find that kind of trust again.

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><p><strong>TO BE CONTINUED<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I know it's been quite a while since I updated this story or posted a new fic. Life got very hectic towards the end of last year. I have to thank everyone who PMed me asking about updates. This is for all of you and for all the true fans who are sticking with our favourite show.

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><p><strong>FOUR<strong>

It was two full days before Sam's fever broke and Dean never left his side. Illness had a way of making Sam clingy and compliant and as Dean felt his little brother's physical and emotional dependence it seemed like the distance between then was getting smaller.

Sam spent most of his time sleeping; but when he was awake he didn't let Dean go too far away from him. In his fog of fever, Sam sometimes wondered if his brother was real. To him, it seemed like a dream that after everything that had come between them Dean could have been caring for him as if he was as innocent as a newborn. Each time his brother came to his bed or sat down beside him, Sam would hold on to whatever part of Dean was closest and he wouldn't let go until sleep relaxed his grip.

Dean didn't know if Sam's actions were driven by delusion or sincerity but he drew a great deal of contentment from his brother's dependency. After all the distance and secrecy between them it was a relief to be needed and to be able to give.

By the time Sam's fever broke, Dean was exhausted and it was Sam's turn to insist that Dean get some rest. Dean slept for almost an entire day and woke in the late evening to see his brother's bed empty and the motel room door open.

In a flash Dean was on his feet and searching. Since he'd been back topside he'd had too many memories of waking up to find Sam gone and being left with only his fearful speculations about what his sibling had been up to.

The sight of Sam sitting on hood of the Impala just outside their room door instantly calmed Dean's fears. Even more reassuring was the clear signal Sam was sending; now that they were both well and rested it was time to talk and they needed to do it on neutral yet familiar territory.

As Dean approached the Impala, observing his brother, he was glad to see that Sam was clearly feeling better but he couldn't suppress a small pang of regret. The feeling was not unfamiliar; he could recall experiencing it in several instances during Sam's adolescence. It generally occurred when some form of sickness had made Sam revert to preadolescent levels of neediness and affection. While he didn't like to see Sam in any form of distress, Dean always savoured the joy of having his _baby_ brother back, even if it was only for the duration of Sam's illness. And in those cases, recovery was always bitter sweet and each time Dean would briefly mourn the loss.

"Hey," Dean called out softly to get Sam's attention. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," Sam said.

Dean joined Sam on the hood of the car, looking out as dusk settled on the almost empty parking lot. "How long has it been since we've done this?" he asked.

"Too long," Sam responded. "And I can still remember the days when I sat here by myself."

Sam swallowed hard as the grief and desperation of those lonely months resurfaced suddenly. He supposed one day he would be able to forget the pain and torment of being separated from his brother; but even as he sat here with Dean, he knew that day was still some way off.

Sighing deeply at the memories, Sam continued. "It was on those days that I actually realised that grief can kill you. Nothing, not losing Dad or even losing Jess, ever made me feel that dark and hopeless."

Dean could tell from his brother's tone that the hurt was far from gone.

"If it's any consolation I'm right here with you," he offered, trying to keep his voice light.

"It is," Sam conceded. "But nothing will ever take away the pain I felt while you were gone. There were times when I thought it would kill me. The only thing that got me through it was thinking of all the ways to make Lilith pay. At first it was just a pipe dream, and then Ruby found me and finally I had a way to get what I wanted."

"Revenge," Dean sighed. "The Winchester's curse."

"I didn't care. She took you away from me Dean; she made me watch you die. Anyone who put me through that was going to pay."

Dean didn't respond. He had been through the same thing and the horror of seeing Sam die had left him desperate enough to make the deal that had ended up sending them both to hell.

"So much of this is my fault," Dean confessed. "If I'd done my job and looked after you I would never have had to make that damn deal in the first place."

"What's done is done Dean. We can't change it."

"Yeah but if I'd been here you wouldn't have taken up with Ruby."

"You can't take responsibility for that one Dean. That was all me. She had what I needed. Or at least, what I thought I needed."

"Demon blood?"

"No. It was never about that."

"Then what was it about?"

"A sense of purpose. Ever since I found out that I had this evil running through my veins I'd been living in fear. Between Dad's warning to you and Azazel's plans for me I felt like I was some kind of walking time bomb and like it was only a matter of time before whatever was dark in me took over completely."

"And hooking up with a demon was a way to prevent this?"

"Yes. I thought Ruby was showing me how to use what I had been cursed with for something good. When I started exorcising demons for once I felt like I had a purpose. I felt like something that everyone - even Dad - felt would make me evil could be a gift that I could put to good use. And she was showing me a way to get what I wanted more than anything else, Lilith's head on a platter."

Dean could only imagine the torment and confusion Sam had endured at being labelled devil's spawn by even his own father. It must have been such a relief to see a light in that dark, desperate, tunnel. The piercing irony of his little brother being classified as evil had always made Dean bitterly angry. If there was anyone he had ever known who he had thought was intrinsically good, it was Sam.

"You know what made me angry," Dean said. "I tried so hard to get you to see that you were the best person I knew in spite of what Dad or Azazel or anyone else said and you wouldn't believe me. It's ten kinds of twisted that a demon was the one who got you to see the good in yourself and I couldn't."

"She was telling me what I needed to hear."

"She was messing with your head and I told you as much."

"Well you've had the last laugh on that one."

"You think there's anything in this whole sordid mess to laugh about?"

"No Dean, but you can at least take some pleasure in knowing you were right."

"You think that's what this is about? I just wanted you to be OK. I just wanted to know that you weren't ..."

"That I wasn't going dark side? See, even you were afraid that could happen."

"Well, when I find you shacking up with a demon I'm bound to wonder."

"I didn't have anyone else Dean. You were gone."

"Yes but even when I came back you trusted her more than you trusted me. We used to be partners Sam. We used to do everything together, our way. Then I come back and you've replaced me with a demon."

"And speaking of replacement," Sam looked meaningfully at his brother. "I think it's fair to say I was upstaged by an angel."

"It's not the same."

"No, I don't suppose it is, but it didn't hurt me any less."

"It didn't have anything to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me."

Dean stared at his brother, flabbergasted.

"Look, I may be slow, but I'm not seeing the connection. I have every right to have wanted to see Ruby dead. She messed with you; she turned you against me and brought you closer to hell than I ever wanted you to go. What's your beef with Cas?"

"He got you out of hell Dean," Sam argued as if the conclusion followed logically. "For one year, I tried everything to break that deal and then for four months I tried everything I could think of to bring you back and then he flies in in his trench coat and rescues you without thinking."

Dean scratched his head, genuinely perplexed. "I think you'd be happy about that."

"_Of course_ I was happy that you were out but saving you was _my_ job. All my life you've been saving me. You went to hell because of me and I just felt..."

_"Felt what?" _

"I felt if I could get you out then at least everything you gave up would have been worth it and I would have somehow managed to earn even a fraction of what you've given to me all these years. But it wasn't me, it was Cas."

Dean silently contemplated his brother's words.

"You can't earn love Sam, you can't work for it, it's just about who you are. You're my brother and how I feel about you has nothing to do with what you deserve it's about who you are. And I think that's what I was afraid of when I came back, I didn't want you to change; I didn't want to lose my little brother."

"But I have changed Dean, whether or not you want to admit it. After the demon blood, Ruby and the panic room, I am different Dean and you know it. I can see it every time you look at me."

"Sam..."

"Don't even try to deny it Dean. I know what you think of me. You told me as much just before I went off with Ruby."

There was no denying what Dean had said. He'd called his little brother a monster; and even though he had said it at the height of his anguish over what he saw as Sam's betrayal, there was no way he could ever take it back.

"I had no right to ever say anything like that to you. All I can remember is how hurt and betrayed I felt that you decided to side with Ruby instead of me and I just wanted to hurt you back. I'm sorry."

Sam looked at his brother, eyes filled with both accusation and understanding. "It's O.K. Dean. Considering what I did to you after, you weren't too far off the mark. Face it Dean, I'm not the same person I was before you went to hell."

"Neither am I Sam," Dean countered. "And I can see _that_ in your eyes when _you_ look at me." When Sam turned away, Dean knew he had touched on the truth. "I know you think I came back weak and broken, but hell changes you in ways you wouldn't imagine."

"But you never would have been there if it hadn't been for me."

"That's not your guilt to carry Sammy. That was my choice. That's all on me."

"It won't ever be all on you Dean. I'll never be able to look at you and see that pain in your eyes and not feel I'm somehow responsible."

"Well I'm telling you here and now, you're not responsible so let it go."

When Sam's only response was to turn away Dean grabbed his shoulder. "Sam, I'm serious. Let it go."

"Fine Dean." Sam held his brothers gaze for the requisite moment and then looked off into the distance again.

"So," Dean pressed when it became clear Sam didn't intend to say anything more. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Sam lied. They had finally had the talk but he still felt so far from his brother and the distance was unsettling. "You?" he turned the tables.

"Yeah," Dean parroted.

"So we're good then?" Sam prompted, hoping Dean would give even a hint of reassurance.

"We're good," Dean shrugged but he couldn't have felt worse. He stole a glimpse at Sam who seemed to have developed a fascination with the empty parking lot.

Just like that, Dean thought feeling the bitter sweet sentiments again. Time was when Sam couldn't have made it through a conversation like without breaking down completely. Somewhere in the heated exchange or the heartfelt confession, his little brother usually lost it and the flood gates would literally open up. Even if Dean was at the peak of his own anger, a little brother breakdown was always the cue for him to transition to his role as comforter.

In spite of his occasional token protests, or his labelling of Sam as the emotional one, it was a role that Dean had come to deeply relish. To know that in the midst of any turmoil, confusion or pain, all this little brother needed was Dean's shoulder to lean on or Dean's arms to support him made Dean feel needed in a way that was so gratifying he had decided long ago he would rather not live without it. Not even Sam fully understood how much it meant to him.

But it seemed Sam really had changed in the months they had been apart. And now, his new and not necessarily improved little brother could have such an overwhelming heart to heart and then shrug it off like it was nothing.

Suddenly Dean felt tears welling up his own eyes.

"Let's get something to eat," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the car and standing with his back to his brother. "I don't want you to survive your fever and then die of starvation."

Knowing Sam couldn't see, Dean quickly used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes and then started to walk away. As his big brother moved, Sam felt the space beside him open up and swallowed hard to fight down the panic. They'd both said their piece but somehow the distance between them hadn't closed. Maybe it was because he'd been uncharacteristically invulnerable even as he'd spilled his guts to Dean. Fighting with his big brother over personal issues always left him feeling a little raw and exposed but Dean had always had a way of reassuring him and making him feel safe. But now, after they had both spilled their guts, Dean was walking away without giving him the usual big brother reassurance. And how could he give it when Sam hadn't asked. And Sam hadn't asked because he didn't know if he would get it, even if he did.

Dean had only taken a few steps but Sam felt the distance between them widening and in that instant he knew, embarrassment and rejection, he could handle. Losing his big brother again, was simply out of the question.

"Dean," Sam called after him.

Dean turned to face Sam but found his brother was looking down at the bonnet instead of meeting his eyes.

"What?"

"Can we just stay out here for a little?" Sam asked, studying the Impala's hood.

Hopefully, longingly, Dean stepped back to the car.

"Sure."

"Will you sit with me?" Sam still wasn't looking up, but his voice was wavering, brimming emotions.

"Sure," Dean slipped back up on the hood, shouldering close to his brother.

Sam raised his head, but kept his eyes straight ahead. "There were so many times when I sat here by myself, just wishing you could be here with me, just wishing we could do this one more time."

Finally, Sam turned to look at his brother and the emotion in his eyes was undeniable.

"Dean, sometimes I can't believe you're really here. I still get scared that one day I'm going to wake up and you'll be gone."

And the admission of his greatest fear, forced the floodgates and Sam shuddered as the tears flowed down.

Dean slipped an arm around him and ushered Sam's head down to rest on his shoulder. Was it wrong to feel a sense of calm with his brother crying against him? Was it selfish of him to feel just a little elated that he was still the only one who could really comfort Sam in his deepest distress?

No, Dean immediately decided. He'd been doing this for Sam since the day he was born and not even the forces of hell could get him to stop now.

"I'm right here with you Sammy," he said softly. "We can sit here for as long as you like."

**THE END**


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